


suddenly I meet your face

by coloredink



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't sit in your chair," said Sherlock.  "It's yours."</p>
            </blockquote>





	suddenly I meet your face

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [suddenly I meet your face](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781945) by [Toootie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toootie/pseuds/Toootie)



John paused on the doorstep with the key in his hand. _Go_ , she'd said. _He needs you_ , she'd said.

"But," he'd protested, and she hadn't let him get another word out. _He left after the first dance, John. People dancing together, being happy together, and what was it he said--about how we don't need him anymore, now that we've an actual baby on the way? He'll be back at the flat, sulking about how unloved he is. Go._

And so here he was, with the key that Mrs Hudson had never let him return ("Just so you know, you're welcome anytime."), standing on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street at, God, what was it, two in the bloody morning? His wife was waiting for him at home. It was their wedding night. They were leaving on their honeymoon tomorrow. Sherlock was probably asleep.

Asleep? Sherlock? Ridiculous. John let himself in.

He climbed the steps quietly, even though Mrs Hudson was either still at the wedding or dead to the world (and this would not have been the first time she was woken by someone pounding up the stairs, in any case). The door to 221B was unlocked, but that didn't alarm him. He pushed it open and padded into the sitting room.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, in the dark. John had to work very hard not to jump.

"Hello," John said, trying to sound casual even though he was standing in his best friend's flat at two in the morning, in the dark, and his friend hadn't greeted him or sent any sign that he acknowledged his existence. "Thought you might still be up," he added, and winced at himself.

He sat down in his old chair, stretching his legs out in front of him until they almost touched Sherlock's. He still thought of it as "his" chair. He wondered if Sherlock sat in it now.

"No," said Sherlock.

John looked up. He couldn't see Sherlock very well in the dark. Maybe he should have turned on the light. "What?"

"I don't sit in your chair," said Sherlock. "It's yours."

Ah, the old mind-reading thing. No doubt his thoughts had been obvious from the expression on his face, or the direction his gaze took, or something. John quirked a smile. "You know, I--"

Sherlock heaved an enormous, world-weary sigh, as if John pained him. Bored him. "What are you doing here, John?"

John started. "I--"

"Did you come to _pity_ me?" Sherlock rose to his feet so that he could loom. He was still wearing the suit he'd had on at the wedding, and his coat. John thought that maybe he should have come sooner, but he'd been dancing, drinking, mingling. It'd been his _wedding_ , for Chrissakes. 

"Better go check on Sherlock, he's all alone now, I'll go and tell him that nothing will change, even though everything's changed, everything," Sherlock pitched his voice high in mocking imitation, but he spat out the last line: " _Don't_ patronise me."

"I came to thank you," John said, quietly. "For the wedding gift. The song. It was lovely. And the speech. That was lovely too. It was all lovely."

Sherlock cocked his head, further increasing his resemblance to a giant bat. "Even the murder?"

John drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair, once. " _Attempted_ murder. So it was all right." He smiled up at Sherlock.

They remained like that for a few moments, Sherlock standing, John sitting and looking up at him. It was familiar.

"I didn't sit in your chair either," said John. "While you were gone. Well, and then I moved out, so." He shifted in his seat.

Sherlock looked away.

"You know," John said, keeping his voice low and soft, as befitting the darkness and the fragility of this moment, "if you hadn't. If you hadn't gone and done...that, I would never have met Mary. So I owe it to you, almost." Sherlock didn't move. John brushed the back of his hand across his nose. "You're both the best things to ever happen to me, and I." He sat up straighter. This was what he'd come to do; what Mary, he was sure, wanted him to do. "I'm making a vow."

Sherlock's gaze darted back to John. "You've already done that."

"Yeah, shut up and listen." John leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "You made a lovely vow today, it was--thank you. It meant a lot to me. And Mary. And. Here's one from me to you, now: I vow to always, always, be there for you too. I promise that. That's not going to change. That's my vow. No, you know what, mine _and_ Mary's vow."

Sherlock swallowed. He sat back down. "You can't," he mumbled, without looking at John. He mumbled something else after that, something that sounded like "baby."

"You're the big baby," said John. He smiled. "Git."


End file.
